


What is Right and What is Easy

by WinterSky101



Series: Dark and Difficult Times [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Good Percy Weasley, Interrogation, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), POV Percy Weasley, Percy Weasley-centric, Second War with Voldemort, Spy Percy Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25915810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterSky101/pseuds/WinterSky101
Summary: The war hits the Ministry hard, and Percy Weasley is stuck in the middle of it.
Relationships: Aberforth Dumbledore & Percy Weasley
Series: Dark and Difficult Times [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880803
Comments: 35
Kudos: 246





	What is Right and What is Easy

Somewhere on Percy's desk, buried under piles of paperwork, was an invitation to his brother's wedding.

He hadn't really been expecting to get one, but he had, owl-delivered and elegant. Bill's wife-to-be must have designed the invitations, because the Bill Percy knew would never have chosen thick cream parchment with curling silver script and delicate enchanted roses in the corners that bloomed and closed over the course of the day. The parchment cordially invited Percy to the wedding of William Arthur Weasley and Fleur Isabelle Delacour, to be celebrated on the first of August at the Burrow. On the bottom, in Bill's familiar scrawl, a note read, _Please come, Perce, I miss you._

Percy still technically did have time to get there. If he told the Minister that he had to go, if he Apparated directly there in his work clothes instead of going back to his flat for dress robes, if he hurried, he could get there just before the ceremony started. He could get there, and see Bill, his favorite brother, and watch him get married...

And be there with the rest of his family, none of whom would want to see him, and none of whom he wanted to see.

Percy didn't dig the invitation out from under the Ministry Employee Safety pamphlet and the financial reports he'd been asked to look over. He didn't ask the Minister for time off, and he didn't Apparate away. He watched the clock, and he let out a breath that was half regret and half relief when it showed that the ceremony had begun.

Work continued as usual, for a time. Percy went through the papers on his desk and moved them from his to-do pile into his done pile. He looked over the financial reports, but he didn't move the pamphlet. He could see a cream corner underneath it, but he ignored it resolutely.

And then Pius Thicknesse strolled into the office. "Is the Minister in?"

"He is," Percy replied, reaching for the calendar. "Did you have an appointment?"

"I just need a moment of his time," Thicknesse replied. "Isn't this supposed to be your lunch break, Weasley?"

Technically, yes, although Percy often took his lunch break later than the others if he got caught up in his work. "I'm just finishing up."

"I'd suggest you finish up quickly," Thicknesse said. His tone was mild enough, but something about it sent a shiver down Percy's spine anyway.

"I will."

Thicknesse nodded and strolled up to Scrimgeour's door. Percy watched him step in, and then he turned back to his work.

It was very quiet, he noticed with a hint of uneasiness. Normally, he could hear the sound of voices through the Minister's door, even though he could only rarely hear what the voices were actually saying. But now, he couldn't hear a thing. Someone must have put a charm up to keep any sound from escaping. There were plenty of innocent reasons to do that during a conversation with the Minister, and yet something told Percy this might not have been innocent. He looked at the door, swallowed, and stood up.

He went to get lunch.

A few hours later, he heard that Scrimgeour had retired, and Thicknesse had replaced him. The story didn't make sense, but Percy didn't argue it. He remembered the eerie silence after Thicknesse entered Scrimgeour's office, and he kept his mouth shut.

He had a good idea of what had happened to Scrimgeour, and if he didn't want the same thing to happen to him, he would have to be very, very careful. It was a good thing that being careful had always been something that Percy was good at.

* * *

He kept his job.

He was a Pure-blood, after all, and his family may have been full of blood traitors, but Percy had always been loyal to the Ministry. He was lucky. Confirmed members of the Order of the Phoenix were the first to lose their jobs, although most of them had already ran. Percy held his breath through that, but thankfully, his father seemed alright. Next, all the Muggle-borns lost their jobs in one fell swoop. Then the half-bloods were weeded through, their family trees examined and their loyalty tested. The Pure-bloods almost all got to stay.

That was just the start.

The new regulations were rolled out slowly over the next few days. Rules grew stricter. The statue in the Atrium was taken down with the promise that a new one would be put up soon that was more appropriate. Departments were shut down, and employees were shuffled around to new ones.

Harry Potter was wanted for questioning about the death of Albus Dumbledore.

Percy hoped that Ron wasn't with him, but he knew he would be - he didn't believe for an instant that Ron actually had spattergroit, although he'd never say such aloud, of course - so he hoped Ron would be careful. He hoped neither of them would do anything too foolish. He hoped Hermione would be with them; she'd always had more sense than both boys put together, although Percy still thought she could be foolish sometimes.

Then again, Percy had done some incredibly foolish things too, so perhaps he shouldn't be so quick to judge.

He wondered how things would have been if he'd gone to Bill's wedding. If he hadn't been at the Ministry during the silent coup that no one admitted had happened. If he were still on speaking terms with his family. He still saw his father at work, so the family hadn't gone into hiding, but he was sure they had some sort of plan.

He wondered what his father would do if Percy went up to him and said he wanted out of the Ministry. Would his father help him? Would he ignore him? Would he suspect him of asking on the Minister's behalf, of trying to play spy? His mother, he thought, would help him, although he wasn't entirely certain of that, but his father, after all he'd said...

Percy didn't go to him.

He sat at his desk, and he looked over the papers that were handed to him, and he kept moving forward. There was no time to look back.

* * *

The Muggle-born laws started small. First, all Muggle-borns had to register with the Ministry. Percy knew it was just the start, knew things would get worse, but there was nothing he could do. Not yet.

Then, Muggle-borns started getting arrested. Started getting accused of stealing magic. Started getting sent to Azkaban. And the Ministry started going through files to find the Muggle-borns who were trying to hide.

"Weasley!" Thicknesse called one day, dropping a stack of files on Percy's desk. "Go through these, would you? They're suspected Muggle-borns. We need someone to look through their family tree to see if they have magical relatives."

"Of course, sir," Percy said, because there was no other answer he could give, and he took the first file off the top of the stack. He flipped it open as Thicknesse left, but he didn't see the words in front of him. His mind was racing too much to allow him to read.

He was thinking about Penelope Clearwater, his girlfriend from their last few years at Hogwarts, a Ravenclaw and a Prefect and a Muggle-born. She had gone to France to study after they graduated, Percy remembered. He hoped she was still there. He hoped she was safe.

He was thinking about Hermione Granger, Ron's friend and fellow Prefect and the smartest witch in her year, and a Muggle-born as well. She was undoubtedly with Harry, so she had bigger problems than avoiding the Muggle-born registry, but Percy knew this would be just one more reason for the Ministry to search for her.

He was thinking about Colin Creevy, an excitable Gryffindor boy in Ginny's year who loved to take pictures, and who came from a family that was amazed to see those pictures move. Colin would be going into his sixth year at Hogwarts, but not if he was arrested by the Ministry before the term could start.

He was thinking about Cecil Bradley, a Hufflepuff boy who had been in seventh year when Percy was in first, who had come across Percy crying in the library after spilling ink all over his just-finished essay and had cleaned it with his wand and given Percy a Muggle pen he'd brought from home. Percy had written most of his essays in pen for his first few months at Hogwarts, before he asked his mother to teach him the clever spell Cecil had used when he went home that Christmas. He hadn't seen Cecil in years and had no idea what he'd done after school, but he hoped it was something far away from the Ministry.

He was thinking about all the Muggle-born first years he'd guided in his years as Prefect, who had been so in awe of the magic whirling around them, magic their Pure-blood and half-blood fellows took for granted. All of them had loved Hogwarts so much, had loved magic, and now they were being told they never deserved it in the first place.

Percy looked down at the file in front of him, reached for his quill (the pen Cecil had given him was on the desk in his flat, so he could use it for quick notes or grocery lists), and began to write.

* * *

The official Ministry line was that magic could only be inherited, and thus all people who could perform magic had to have magical relatives. If someone didn't have a magical relative, they must have stolen their magic. Just one magical grandparent was enough to escape the charge of stealing, if only barely. Someone with such a tenuous magical connection was considered a second-class citizen, but they weren't a thief.

The Ministry had records of all witches and wizards who had ever lived in Britain, which theoretically should have made discovering Muggle-borns very simple. The problem was that the records from the 1940s were an utter mess. Between the Muggle World War and the Wizarding War against Grindelwald, there were many people who slipped through the cracks. It took a lot of digging to figure out if a Muggle-born's relatives could perhaps have slipped through the cracks as well.

Percy normally hated sloppy paperwork, but for once, he was grateful for it. It was much easier for him to amend certain files when those files were already a mess.

Once his new papers were in place, it would become clear to anyone who looked into the suspected Muggle-borns that they weren't really Muggle-borns at all. They all had, according to the files, at least one magical relative. Grandparents were usually easiest. Percy could add a beloved grandfather's name to a few lists, forge a piece of paperwork or two, and suddenly have a wizard in the place of a Muggle.

If the Ministry was so worried about people stealing magic, Percy was wryly certain they'd hate this.

It wasn't easy to forge the papers, and if anyone found Percy doing it, it could cost him his life. But he'd stood aside once before and let evil win. He'd let Scrimgeour die. He'd let Voldemort seize the Ministry. The least he could do was make sure that Voldemort's rule was as inefficient as possible. The least he could do was save as many lives as he could.

No papers labeled Clearwater passed Percy's desk, nor Granger or Bradley, but papers for Colin and Dennis Creevy did. Their paternal grandmother, the records quickly came to show (with a little nudge in the right direction from Percy), had been a Eastern European witch who'd fled the Continent in the early 1940s, during the height of both wars, and come to England. She'd married a Muggle and had a son with no signs of magic ability, but her grandsons had inherited her power. Tragically, she'd died only a year after Dennis was born, so she'd never been able to see their magic.

Percy wrote all of this down, made sure all the files looked perfect, and signed the report. He hoped the Creevys wouldn't be too shocked to find out the news about their grandmother. He hoped they'd know well enough to accept it.

He hoped they'd be alright.

* * *

It took a while for Percy to decide to contact the Order of the Phoenix.

He wasn't sure why it felt like so much more of a risk than forging the files had. Either way, he was going against the Ministry. If anyone found out what Percy was doing, he was certain he'd be considered a member of the Order and treated as such.

And yet, joining the Order meant working with other people. It meant there were others who could betray him if they were caught. It meant joining an organization he'd berated angrily, an organization his parents were neck-deep in, an organization that practically worshipped a boy he'd called attention-seeking, unstable, dangerous. Percy had been trying hard to unbend his pride, but he wasn't sure if he could unbend it that much.

He also wasn't sure if the Order would believe his sincerity in the first place. After what he'd said and done...

But then, in the beginning of September, a group of Muggle-borns escaped the Ministry. They were aided by a few employees, as well as a few people apparently using the Polyjuice Potion. It was undoubtedly the work of the Order of the Phoenix.

And it had saved lives.

Percy's forged paperwork could save lives as well, he knew that, but he couldn't use it to save Muggle-borns whose families were looked into by different people. He couldn't use it to save Muggle-borns who had signed up for the registry without knowing any better. He couldn't use it to save too many people.

But maybe the Order could save them instead.

Percy could help the Order. He knew he could. There were other Ministry employees in it, he knew - his father, at the very least, and probably some others too - but Percy was in the fairly unique position of being high-ranking enough to be in contact with most important members of the Ministry, but also low-ranking enough not to be considered a threat. People often seemed to forget he was there, and he'd overheard a lot of conversations during his time at the Ministry simply because no one seemed to think twice about speaking in front of him. It had rankled at him at first, but if it could help save people, he'd never complain about it again. With his knowledge and the Order's manpower, Percy was sure they could make a difference.

But the first step was getting in contact with the Order, and Percy wasn't quite sure how to do that.

The most obvious way would be to talk to his father, but Percy didn't think that would work. First of all, there was no reason for him to talk to his father, and he was certain that someone would notice and mention it to the Minister or someone else equally dangerous. If the Weasleys weren't under observation, Percy would be shocked. Percy was probably the only member of his family not under suspicion, and it would do no one any favors for him to do anything to risk that.

And even if that weren't the case, Percy wasn't sure that his father would believe him if he said he wanted to join the Order. After everything he'd said and done, would his father ever believe him again? Percy had always known he wasn't his father's favorite. Their argument certainly hadn't helped that. There was bad blood between them, and as much as Percy hoped he could fix that, repairing his relationship with his father was distinctly below saving lives on his list of priorities. He couldn't let it interfere with working with the Order.

But if he couldn't talk to his father, who _could_ Percy talk to?

He ran through the list of suspected Order members in his mind. None of them were people he could talk to easily. A fair amount were either dead or on the run, and as for the others, if Percy suspected them, it was fair to assume the Ministry did too. Unless he could come up with a natural way to spend time with them, he was out of luck.

Then Percy heard some of his colleagues talking about popping down to Hogsmeade for a drink, and an epiphany hit him like a Stunning Spell to the chest. Having a meeting with a member of the Order of the Phoenix would be suspicious, yes, but there was nothing suspicious about getting a drink at a pub.

And surely Dumbledore's own _brother_ had to be a member of the Order, didn't he?

* * *

The fact that the owner of the Hog's Head was, in fact, Aberforth Dumbledore was not a well-known one. It wasn't precisely a secret, but nor was it something that anyone talked about. Percy only knew because, when dared to go into the Hog's Head by Oliver Wood during their second ever Hogsmeade trip, he'd noted that the bartender had the same blue eyes as the Headmaster, and when asked, Aberforth hadn't denied the familial connection. He hadn't seemed particularly eager to talk about it either, but Percy had understood. He found it hard enough to be seen as his own person with Bill and Charlie as his older brothers. He imagined it was that much harder when your older brother was _Albus Dumbledore_.

Percy hadn't spoken to Aberforth too many times after that - the Hog's Head wasn't a particularly pleasant pub, and Percy had been too busy studying to go to Hogsmeade that often anyway - but his interactions with the man had left Percy fairly certain that he wasn't a Death Eater. There was a chance that he wasn't actually a member of the Order, but Percy had the feeling that, either way, he'd probably have a way to get in contact with them, and that was all Percy needed. If he could pass on information, if he could tell the Order what he knew, then he knew it could save lives. All he needed was a way to do it.

Hogsmeade wasn't quite how Percy remembered it. Oh, the buildings were all the same, of course, but the atmosphere had changed. It was almost like things had been during Percy's final year at Hogwarts, when Sirius Black had been on the loose, except it was worse than that, because this time, the dangers lurking in Hogsmeade were ones you couldn't arrest or imprison, but ones that could arrest or imprison you. The atmosphere in the village showed that fear. It wasn't quite as grim as Diagon Alley, but it wasn't much nicer.

The Three Broomsticks was clearly quiet and nowhere near as cheerful as it had once been, but Percy didn't pay it much attention as he walked past. That wasn't the pub he was here to visit. Instead, he kept walking further and further into Hogsmeade until finally he stood before a swinging sign emblazoned with the head of a hog. With a deep breath, Percy stepped forward and pushed the door open.

It had occurred to him that there was a chance Aberforth might have been in hiding, but as Percy approached the empty bar, the barman turned around to reveal familiar blue eyes surrounded by dirty gray hair. Percy breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he sat down.

"What d'you want?" Aberforth grunted.

"Er, firewhiskey," Percy replied. He had the feeling he'd need the courage.

Aberforth turned away, grabbed a bottle from the shelf behind him, and poured a measure of firewhiskey into a glass that was far dustier than anything Percy would normally feel comfortable drinking out of. But that was just part of the Hog's Head experience, he knew, so he lifted the glass with a quiet "cheers" and took a sip.

"You're one of the Weasley boys, aren't you?"

Percy looked up at Aberforth, surprised at the conversation. He'd never known Aberforth to start one without prompting before.

"I am."

"You're the black sheep one."

Percy blinked. "Did one of my family members mention me?"

"Might have," Aberforth replied with a shrug. "But us black sheep can recognize each other. We can tell."

Percy took another sip of firewhiskey. "What if I don't want to be the black sheep anymore?" he asked, aware that he had to be careful how he spoke even in this apparently-empty pub.

Aberforth's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "You're safer like this," he countered. "Your family doesn't seem too popular at the moment."

"Maybe it's not my safety I'm most concerned about right now."

Aberforth scoffed. "It should be. Times like these, everyone needs to look out for themselves."

"But some people can't look out for themselves," Percy countered. "Some people need someone else to look out for them. And I know there are people who are trying their best to do that."

"And I suppose you're wondering if I'm one of them?"

"I'm wondering if you can get me in contact with them."

"And if I can? What do you plan to do?"

Percy looked around the pub again, double-checking that it was empty, and then he leaned forward and said carefully, "I work at the Ministry. I hear things. There's not much I can do about most of the things I hear, but other people might be able to do more."

Aberforth studied him for a long moment. "What sort of things do you hear?" he finally asked.

Percy felt a mix of relief and terror wash over him. He was doing this, he really was, he was aiding and abetting an illegal vigilante organization, he was breaking the law-

But if the law was as immoral as the current laws were, it was Percy's moral duty to break it.

"I work under the Minister," he said. "I hear meetings. Sometimes I'm even asked to stand in as secretary during them. I know about policy, and I know how it can be subverted. I hear about planned raids, and where they're sending Snatchers, and-"

"Alright, alright," Aberforth cut in. "You've convinced me you're worth it. I'm not promising anything, but if you can get information to me, I'll do my best to pass it on."

"Thank you," Percy said earnestly. "Thank you."

Aberforth waved him off. "I still think you're being foolish, but if you're sure you want to do this, I guess I can't stop you."

Percy finished his firewhiskey and toyed with the glass for a moment, turning it between his palms. "Could I ask a favor?"

"Beyond what I'm already doing?" Aberforth replied dryly.

"If your... contacts ask who gave you the information," Percy said slowly, "don't give them my name."

Aberforth raised an eyebrow, barely visible in his bushy tangle of hair. "Why not?"

"The fewer people who know my name, the safer I am," Percy replied. "Surely I can't be the only anonymous informant."

"Only one I know of with a name like yours," Aberforth countered.

"I'm the black sheep, remember?" Percy replied. "I don't think my name means much to any of them anymore."

Aberforth studied Percy's face for a moment, and Percy remembered how Dumbledore's eyes had always seemed like they could see right into you. Aberforth's could too, and Percy was immediately convinced that Aberforth knew why he _really_ didn't want his name brought up. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and waited for Aberforth to finally pass whatever judgment he was mulling over.

"Fine," Aberforth finally said. "But if we get out of all of this alive, you should tell them yourself."

Percy set his glass down on the bar. "If we all make it out, I'll consider it."

* * *

Percy had always been good at Charms. He'd gotten an O on his NEWTs for it, after all. He was grateful for that as he laid charm after charm on the notebooks he'd bought at Flourish and Blotts. They needed to be perfectly conjured, and the charms had to be undetectable. To everyone else, the notebooks had to seem utterly mundane.

After a few hours of work, Percy took a step away from the table and stared at the notebooks. They looked completely normal, just two plain notebooks, new but clearly not particularly expensive. They didn't reek of magical power in the way some charmed objects did, at least not to Percy; he'd have to have Aberforth check his work on that. He thought he'd hidden the notebooks' true purpose fairly well, though, and he was grateful that the spells had all come together so easily.

There were a lot of spells on the notebooks, even if Percy had done his best to make sure they didn't appear enchanted. The most basic, underlying spell was a Protean Charm, so anything written in one notebook would show up in the other one. The problem was, it was important that no one else was able to read what had been written in the notebooks. It wouldn't do for anyone who happened to find them lying around to be able to read the contents. Of course, they really shouldn't leave the notebooks lying around in the first place, but even still, Percy had to add some precautions. He'd laid a few charms that made the notebooks difficult to notice in the first place, and if anyone but he or Aberforth did pick up one of them, the contents would appear to be entirely harmless scribbling. Percy's would be full of appointments and reminders, and Aberforth's would be full of old inventories for the Hog's Head. Nothing seditious or suspicious, and surely nothing that required further examination.

Of course, if either Percy or Aberforth got to the point where their notebook was seized and examined, they'd probably be in a precarious situation already, but precarious situation or not, being able to access the true notebook wouldn't help at all. Percy had woven the charms as thickly as he could to prevent them from being unwoven easily, but he'd also woven them as invisibly as he could to prevent the charms from being noticed in the first place. If he'd done it well enough, it would work, but if he hadn't...

Percy swallowed hard, tucked the notebooks into the pocket of his cloak, and Apparated to Hogsmeade.

It had been over a week since he'd last spoken with Aberforth, and though Percy hated to delay when there were lives on the line, he also knew it would be suspicious if he suddenly started going to the Hog's Head regularly when he'd never done so before. Popping out for a drink or two was fine - everyone did it, after all - but deviating too much from his usual pattern of behavior might invite scrutiny, and Percy absolutely could not afford to be scrutinized.

The Hog's Head was empty but for Aberforth once more, although Percy checked the entire pub carefully before sitting down at the bar. "Butterbeer, please," he requested when Aberforth looked up.

Aberforth grunted and set a bottle in front of him, then turned back around to do continue washing glasses with a frankly disgusting rag. Percy discreetly got out his wand to siphon the worst of the dust and grime off his bottle, then he took a sip and waited for Aberforth to turn back to him.

Eventually, Aberforth did, setting down his rag and leaning against the bar. "Thought you might not be coming back."

"I have something for you," Percy said, pulling out the notebook and setting it on the bar.

Aberforth looked down at it, then flipped it open and rifled through the empty pages. "Don't need a notebook."

Percy let out a silent sigh of relief. If Aberforth couldn't immediately feel the enchantments on it, that meant Percy had done well. "You told me you'd pass on information if I could get it to you," he said, pulling out his own notebook. "Do you have a quill?"

Frowning, Aberforth grabbed a quill and inkwell and slammed them in front of Percy. Percy opened his notebook and wrote on the first page, in his neatest script, _Snatchers are being sent to Diagon Alley on September 17 with orders to detain anyone suspicious until they can be further examined_.

Aberforth looked at the words blossoming on the first page of his notebook and grunted. "I assume no one else can read it."

Percy snapped his notebook shut. "Yours will look like inventories, and mine will look like a list of reminders. They shouldn't grab attention anyway, but just in case."

Aberforth closed his own notebook and tucked it in his apron pocket. "I'll do my best to pass this on, then. If you don't write anything for more than three days in a row, I'll destroy the book."

Percy nodded. "Thank you."

Aberforth scoffed. "I should be stopping you. You're risking your life, you know that."

"I'm not standing aside again," Percy replied, putting his own notebook back in his cloak pocket. "It goes both ways, you know. You're risking your life too. If you want out-"

"I know," Aberforth grunted. "Now, are you going to pay for that butterbeer or what?"

* * *

After its one trip to the Hog's Head, Percy's notebook never left his flat again. He couldn't risk bringing it to work, of course, so it sat in a locked drawer in his desk until he got home and quickly scrawled all of the news he'd heard that the Order might find interesting. Perhaps it wasn't the most glamorous of double agent lives, but Percy had heard the grumbles around the Ministry and knew it was working. Snatchers went to seize suspected Muggle-borns only to find that they'd already moved on. Groups of Muggle-borns and other dissidents who were being brought to Azkaban were liberated on the way there. There were still deaths and arrests, but there were less than there could have been, and Percy knew he played a part in that.

He still went to the Hog's Head occasionally, for a drink and whatever conversation Aberforth was willing to have. It was almost always empty, so Percy could speak a bit more freely there than anywhere else. It was a relief, to have at least one place where he didn't have to be quite as paranoid.

"Do you listen to the radio?" Aberforth asked one evening as Percy toyed with his empty glass and debated whether or not to offer to help Aberforth clean up.

"The radio?" Percy repeated, nonplussed by the sudden question. "Not frequently. Why?"

Aberforth grunted. "Might hear some interesting stuff on there. Password is phoenix."

Percy tucked that information away, paid for his drink, and returned to his flat. After going through his usual bevy of spells to make sure there were no surveillance charms anywhere near him, he pulled out his old radio and began to fiddle with the dials.

Thanks to the password Aberforth had supplied him with, Percy managed to stumble onto a clearly secret broadcast that seemed to be run by none other than Lee Jordan. He sat and listened as Lee and other correspondents - he recognized Kingsley Shacklebolt easily, and was fairly certain another voice belonged to his old professor Remus Lupin - spoke about the regime and how best to undermine it, as well as sharing certain facts Percy was certain the Ministry and Voldemort himself wouldn't want shared. He didn't quite laugh, but he came closer than he had for a long time.

And then Lee wrapped up the broadcast and named it Potterwatch, and Percy felt any enjoyment he might have felt over it curdle in his gut. Of course. Of course this was named after Harry Potter. Of course he was the savior everyone looked to for salvation. Percy should have expected nothing else.

* * *

Percy first met Harry at the Start-of-Term Feast in Harry's first year. He liked the boy enough then, and although he didn't approve of Harry's general disdain for school rules, he liked him well enough until the end of the year.

He liked him well enough until he found himself sitting in the Hospital Wing next to his little brother's unconscious body, knowing Ron was only there because he'd gone running after Harry into danger.

Perhaps that was unfair, but Percy couldn't help but feel it, and his opinion only solidified in the years that followed. Harry seemed to mean well, but he ran headfirst into danger and dragged his friends along with him, and people always ended up hurt. He always had to do everything himself, or with the help of only a select few friends, all of whom were children who had no business getting involved in such things. Harry never went to the teachers, never went through the proper channels, never let adults help him and handle the things that were too much for children to handle. And Percy had to watch as Harry's friends - as Percy's own little brother - got caught up in the increasingly dangerous wake.

Harry wasn't a bad kid. Percy didn't think that. Harry had risked his life to save Ginny's at age twelve, and he'd rescued Ron in the second Triwizard task two years later. But Harry was reckless, and Harry was always mixed up in some sort of danger, and Percy hated knowing that danger would often spill over onto his siblings. He hadn't seen Ron or Ginny since they'd followed Harry into some half-baked visit to the Ministry, but he knew they'd both been injured, and he'd heard that Ron still bore the scars. Perhaps Harry hadn't done it on purpose, but he'd still led them there, into a battle children had no business fighting in, and that responsibility was on him. Harry always thought he had to be the one to do everything, and if he wasn't careful, someone was going to end up dead because of it. Judging from the snippets of information about Sirius Black's death, perhaps someone already had.

Then again, Percy considered, perhaps it wasn't surprising that Harry thought he had to do everything, given that the majority of the wizarding world seemed to feel the same.

And that was Percy's other problem with everyone touting Harry as their inevitable savior, because Chosen One or not - and there'd never really been any confirmation that he _was_ any sort of Chosen One, at least nothing other than gossip and tabloids - he was only seventeen. He'd only been of age for months, and yet grown, capable adults were depending on him to save everyone. They should have been putting their faith into someone who was old enough to know what they were doing, should have been working themselves instead of waiting to be saved, and yet the almost mythic figure of the Chosen One, Boy Who Lived - just a boy! - loomed before them instead. That wasn't Harry's fault, Percy knew, but he didn't need to feed into it. He didn't need to believe it. He didn't need to try to save everyone with the help of no one but two other seventeen year olds. There was a whole Order trying to do the same thing Harry was doing. He didn't have to do it alone. He didn't have to rush into danger and drag Ron and Hermione into it along with him.

Percy didn't hate Harry, but if his mad quest got Ron killed, Percy thought he probably would.

* * *

Days stretched into weeks, which stretched into months. Percy kept his head down at work, quietly forged his paperwork, and sent Aberforth nightly messages to pass onto the Order. He went to the Hog's Head occasionally, but he spent most nights in his flat, sometimes listening to Potterwatch but mostly just sitting at his table and desperately trying to think of anything but the war. That was harder than it should have been; it felt like the war had taken up residence inside his head and now refused to get out. Even his dreams were about the war. When Percy slept long enough to dream, which wasn't as common as was probably healthy, the Death Eaters almost always featured in his nightmares. On the worst of nights, Voldemort joined them.

Most nights, his family died at their hands while he was unable to do anything but watch. The worst part was, Percy knew that could happen in real life too.

As time went on, the weather grew colder, and slowly, Christmas approached. Percy wondered what he could expect of the holidays this year. Surely not much, he thought. He couldn't visit his family, at the very least. After what had happened last Christmas… Well, he was in no hurry to get mashed parsnips thrown at him again, and he couldn't imagine his welcome would be any warmer.

As it turned out, he didn't hear a single thing from his family all through Christmas. He knew it was what he deserved, after how he'd treated them, but part of him couldn't help but retort that they hadn't treated _him_ any better. He'd been the butt of jokes his whole life, his every achievement had been belittled or ignored by his siblings, and his parents had simply always expected greatness and, above all, loyalty from him. He'd put up with all of that - hadn't even realized how much he'd been putting up with, to be honest - until it came to his family's reaction to his promotion. Looking back, perhaps Fudge _had_ been hoping to use him as a spy, but surely that couldn't have been the only reason he promoted him, given that Percy kept his job even after severing ties with his family. And he'd done his job well, even if the corruption in the Ministry meant that perhaps wasn't the most glowing of commendations. He'd been scapegoated for the whole Crouch scandal, even though he was far from the only person who hadn't noticed something was wrong, but he'd clawed his way out of that pit and came out stronger, and all his parents had said was he didn't deserve it.

He ended up drunkenly explaining this to Aberforth in his rooms above the Hog's Head, where Aberforth had dragged him after he closed the pub and told Percy he'd had better stay the night instead of trying to Apparate home, which would almost invariably lead to Splinching himself when he was this drunk. Percy had, in a move that would mortify him in the morning, burst into tears and blubbered something about not being welcome at home, and somehow that had led to him telling Aberforth the whole story about his estrangement from his family. He couldn't remember exactly what he'd said when he woke up the next morning, but he almost preferred it that way. He knew he'd embarrassed himself, but he didn't need to know the details.

"Morning," Aberforth grunted as Percy slowly sat up on the couch, one hand reaching up to massage his aching temples. "Breakfast is on the table."

Percy looked blearily around, wondering where his glasses had ended up, and saw a plate of eggs and sausage sitting on the table. The thought of eating made his stomach roil, but the glass of water beside the plate looked much more appealing, and Percy thankfully gulped it down.

"I'm sorry about last night," he said as he set the glass down. "I didn't intend to get that drunk."

"I run a pub," Aberforth replied. "You're not the biggest mess I've ever seen."

"Regardless." Percy's wand was still in his pocket, thankfully unbroken, so he pulled it out and tapped the glass to refill it. "I'm certain I wasn't the most pleasant of companions."

Aberforth just grunted. He seemed to be reading something, so Percy sat down silently in front of his breakfast and did his best to stomach it. He knew he'd feel better after he ate, but the act of eating was highly unpleasant.

"I know what it's like," Aberforth finally said. "To be the black sheep. You're not the only one who's yelled at a family member. Did Albus ever mention how he broke his nose?"

Percy gaped at Aberforth, a forkful of food hovering halfway to his mouth. "That was _you_?"

"One of them was," Aberforth replied. "I wasn't the only person to punch Albus in the face. Part of me regretted it later, but the things I said to him needed to be said. Probably could have figured out a better way to say them, but…"

Percy set down his fork. "I want to go back to my family, but I don't want things to go back to the way they were before. Does that make sense?"

"Course it does," Aberforth replied. "You had your reasons for leaving. Some of them were bad, but not all of them." He shrugged. "Families can love you and still hurt you."

Percy swallowed hard. "They didn't mean to hurt me. At least, I don't think they did. The twins might have a bit, but not really."

"Were you hurt?" Aberforth asked plainly.

Percy toyed with his fork in lieu of responding, but that was really a response in and of itself.

"Doesn't matter if they meant to do it or not, then," Aberforth stated. "It still happened."

"I still miss them," Percy admitted.

"Course you do. They're family. Doesn't mean they shouldn't be better to you."

Slowly, Percy finished his breakfast. He brought the plate, fork, and glass over to the sink and set the sponge to washing them, then he turned around.

"I think I ought to go. I don't have to work today, but I'm sure I've taken up enough of your time."

"Go ahead," Aberforth replied. "Keep what I said in mind, though."

"I will," Percy promised, noticing his glasses on the table and picking them up. He ran a hand through his hair and hoped he had everything he'd come with, then he put on his glasses and left the pub.

He'd promised to keep what Aberforth had said in mind, but he didn't think he had to. He wasn't going to be able to stop thinking about it, no matter what.

* * *

A few days after Christmas, Xenophilius Lovegood was sent to Azkaban. To be entirely honest, Percy had been expecting that for a long while now, and he was only surprised it had taken so long. The Quibbler's unapologetically anti-Voldemort stance was one that got people killed, and unlike the people who made the similarly-themed Potterwatch, Lovegood made no attempt to hide his whereabouts. His daughter had also gone missing, and Percy could only hope that Luna was alright. He didn't know her well, but he knew that she was a close friend of Ginny's, and he knew that, as odd as she could be, she was a good person at heart.

Xenophilius Lovegood wasn't the only arrest, of course, and Luna Lovegood wasn't the only disappearance. People were vanishing all over the country. Percy was just waiting with bated breath for it to happen to someone he loved. So far, his family seemed to be safe, but honestly, that just made him more tense. It wasn't like the Weasleys' connection to Harry Potter was unknown. If the Ministry hadn't made a move yet, especially with Percy's father still going to work every day, it could only mean they were waiting for something. As for what they could possibly be waiting for…

Well, Percy didn't think he wanted to know what it was.

And then, in the middle of March, the other shoe finally dropped.

"Mr. Weasley?" Dolores Umbridge asked when Percy arrived at work and set his things down at his desk. "Might I have a teensy little word with you?"

Percy's heart almost stopped in his chest, but he kept his face steady and silently thanked God that he'd taken the elective on Occlumency in his seventh year at Hogwarts. "Of course, Madame Umbridge."

Umbridge bustled off to her office, leaving Percy to follow her. He did, dreading each step as he took it but knowing there was nothing else he could do. If Umbridge had found out about the paperwork he'd forged or his connection with the Order of the Phoenix, he was doomed, but he couldn't help but think she wouldn't go through this charade if she had proof of what he'd been doing. If she was still trying to gather proof, then Percy would do everything he could to throw her off the scent.

And if he _was_ arrested, he had his wand up his sleeve, and he had no intention of going quietly.

"This shouldn't take too long," Umbridge told Percy as they entered her office. "Sit down, Mr. Weasley. Let me make you a cup of tea."

"I'm afraid I'm supposed to take notes at the Minister's meeting in ten minutes," Percy replied. "I don't know that I'll be able to stay for tea and still make it in time, and I'd rather not keep the Minister waiting."

"Oh, someone else can be sent in," Umbridge dismissed. "You work too hard anyway! You're always here, aren't you?"

"I want to do my job," Percy replied. "It's always been my goal to work for the Ministry."

"An admirable goal," Umbridge replied, pouring a cup of tea. "Milk and sugar?"

"Neither, thank you," Percy replied, hoping to lessen the chance of Umbridge spiking the tea with something. He knew too much about her penchant for using truth serums in interrogations to take any drink from her without trepidation.

"Here you are, then." Umbridge passed Percy his tea and picked up a cup of her own that was already prepared. The truth serum must have already been in the tea, then, Percy surmised.

"Now," Umbridge said, taking a sip from her tea, "tell me if I've prepared that how you like it. Are you certain you don't want milk or sugar?"

Percy wished he could just pretend to drink, but he had the feeling Umbridge wouldn't allow him out of her office until he emptied the cup, so he took a sip and hoped that all of his illicit research on resisting truth serums hadn't been in vain.

"How is it?" Umbridge asked after Percy took a sip. "Do you need anything?"

"No, thank you," Percy replied. It was the truthful answer, and he had no qualms in giving it, but he still felt a little tug before he answered. It wouldn't have been noticeable if he hadn't been expecting it, he didn't think, but given that he had noticed, it was as good as a confirmation.

He'd have to be very, very careful about what he said next.

"Now," Umbridge said, "I imagine you've already heard about what happened with your family?"

Percy's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't allow a hint of that to show on his face. "You know that my family and I don't get along, Madame Umbridge. I haven't spoken with any of them in over a year." Thankfully, it was the truth, and the serum let him say it without complaint.

Umbridge hummed. "Well, it seems that your youngest brother has been discovered to be in the company of none other than Undesirable Number One."

"Ron is with Potter?" Percy demanded. Thankfully, the truth serum let him say the words in shock even when he'd been fairly certain that was precisely where Ron would be.

"You didn't know, then?" Umbridge asked with saccharine pity.

"I didn't know," Percy agreed, which wasn't technically a lie; suspecting wasn't the same thing as knowing.

"It would seem that your family did," Umbridge replied. "Almost immediately after your brother was discovered with Potter, your entire family went into hiding. Do you know where they might be?"

"No," Percy replied, again honestly. "And I don't doubt they'll employ the Fidelius Charm, so I imagine they'll be difficult to find."

"Oh, they'll be found," Umbridge promised. "They may have escaped for now, but we _will_ bring them to justice." She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Drink up, Mr. Weasley, you look positively pale."

Percy lifted his cup and drank from it obediently. Perhaps, if he finished the cup, he'd be allowed to leave. He'd have to stay at work, of course, but at least he wouldn't be the object of such scrutiny.

"Now, Mr. Weasley, tell me honestly," Umbridge said, as if Percy had the choice. "Are you surprised to hear that your brother was found in the company of Undesirable Number One?"

Percy toyed with his cup and looked down into it, trying to pretend that the words were difficult to say. "I had hoped he wouldn't go after Potter," he admitted. "Potter's led Ron into danger many times, and I'd hoped he wouldn't follow him into it again. But I thought the Ministry marked him down as being home with spattergroit."

Technically, none of that was a lie, if with a bit of mental gymnastics. Percy had suspected that Ron was with Harry, of course, but he _had_ hoped that Ron would stay safe, and Harry _had_ led Ron into danger before. And even if he hadn't believed the spattergroit excuse for a moment, the Ministry _had_ marked him down as being home, so saying he thought the Ministry thought that wasn't a lie at all.

"It appears the officials who checked on your brother's absence from school were misled," Umbridge replied. "Rest assured, they will be punished. Now, Mr. Weasley, one last question and you can leave, just in time for the Minister's meeting. Did you know that your family was helping Undesirable Number One? A simple yes or no will suffice."

 _Yes,_ the truth serum whispered, but Percy wrestled the urge down. He'd suspected, he'd been nearly positive, but knowing for certain?

"No."

Umbridge offered Percy what was probably her best attempt at a reassuring smile. "Well, I am very glad to hear that. Have a biscuit before you leave, Mr. Weasley."

Percy accepted a biscuit from the plate Umbridge held out, biting into it when she looked at him expectantly. The biscuit provoked no immediate reaction, but Percy couldn't help but think it had to do _something_.

"You'd better hurry to make it to your meeting," Umbridge prompted. "Unless you want me to call someone else to take over for you?"

"No, thank you," Percy replied. It was both true and untrue in the same way that many of his statements had been before, but he hadn't felt any tug from the truth serum upon coming up with an answer. The biscuit must have contained the antidote. It was a good idea, Percy thought, if you were going to interrogate employees and then send them back out to work. It wouldn't do for anyone else to be able to take advantage of the truth serum, or for employees to spill secrets they didn't mean to spill because they were forced into it.

It also meant that Percy had passed Umbridge's interrogation, and that made the biscuit perhaps one of the best thing he'd ever eaten.

"Good day, Mr. Weasley," Umbridge called as Percy left her office. He hurried back to the Minister's office, his stomach churning and his head pounding. He wished he could have taken Umbridge's offer to have someone else take over at the meeting, but he couldn't risk anyone thinking he was harboring sympathies for his law-breaking family. If he'd truly cast them off like he'd claimed to, the knowledge of their actions would be nothing to him. To keep up his facade, he had to act as if everything were normal. And that meant that, no matter what, he had to keep his head down and do his work.

But in the back of his mind, he quietly rejoiced that his family, in hiding though they might be, was safe. They were in danger, but at least they were alive.

He could only hope, with absolutely every inch of his body, that they would stay that way.

* * *

Percy waited for over a week after his family went into hiding before he chanced another visit to the Hog's Head. "I heard about your family," Aberforth grunted as he sat down at the bar, setting down a glass of firewhiskey. "Any news?"

"None," Percy replied. He downed the firewhiskey in one gulp and set the glass back down on the bar. "Which is good, I suppose."

"You could go into hiding yourself," Aberforth suggested. "Might even be able to hide with your family."

"I can still help the Order from my position in the Ministry," Percy replied. "I got past Umbridge's interrogation. Everyone thinks I've cut ties entirely with my family."

"You're sure of that?"

Percy wanted to say yes and believe it. Unfortunately, there was still a little voice in the back of his mind that kept reminding himself of how long the Ministry had waited to make a move on his family, probably to see if Harry would ever contact them. Was it possible that they were doing the same with him? Was it possible the Ministry was just waiting for his family to contact him, so they could capture them all in one fell swoop?

If they were, they'd be waiting for a long time.

"I can do good from where I am," Percy said. "I'm not leaving until that changes."

Aberforth grunted. "Well, if you change your mind, you could work here." At Percy's surprised look, he added, almost defensively, "Not like I'm getting any younger. I could use a hand sometimes."

The thought was almost absurd. Percy Weasley, the most ambitious of his siblings, the one who had always worked as hard as he could and aimed for the very top, abandoning his plan to become Minister of Magic and becoming a barman's apprentice? His family would laugh if they heard it.

That didn't mean it wasn't somewhat tempting.

"Maybe someday," Percy said, picking up his empty glass and turning it between his hands. "After the war ends. Although I imagine it'll take a while to rebuild the Ministry, so perhaps after that." He snorted. "Or if I end up having a breakdown from overwork and hiding away from society."

"Here's not a bad place to hide."

Percy set his glass down, then looked up at Aberforth. "If you want help now, I could clean up a bit. My mum taught me cleaning spells when I was young."

Aberforth shrugged. "Do what you want."

Percy pulled out his wand, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

When he was done, the glasses looked clean for what was probably the first time in years, if ever, and Percy had tackled at least the uppermost layer of grime on the bar. Aberforth watched him work while he sorted bottles which Percy then cleaned off with a quick _"Scourgify."_ The Hog's Head didn't come out _clean_ , because Percy wasn't sure it could ever really be clean, but at least it wasn't filthy.

"Told you," Aberforth grunted. "You'd be a good assistant."

Percy looked around the pub and remembered why he'd always liked helping his mother out with cleaning when he was younger. There was something eminently satisfying in having everything tidy and in its place. Percy's flat was hardly lived in, and he wasn't the type to let things get messy anyway, so he never had to do much cleaning there. He used to drive his roommates at Hogwarts crazy, he remembered, by tidying up their things when they left them out. Oliver Wood, who had a tendency to scatter his belongings everywhere, had been particularly annoyed by it. Percy had always insisted that it was better to put things away so you knew where they were, but Oliver had always countered that he knew exactly where everything was anyway, so Percy should stop touching his stuff. Eventually, Percy had stopped irritating his roommates, but his desire for cleanliness hadn't gone anywhere. Being able to clean a place like the Hog's Head…

Well, it was a refreshing change from everything he had to do at the Ministry.

"I'll keep the offer in mind," Percy said, and he found that he was telling the truth.

* * *

March became April, and Percy felt the tension in the Ministry rise every day. Something would have to happen soon, he thought; all of this tension would have to be expelled somehow.

And yet April was eerily silent, like everyone was laying low. Percy waited with bated breath for something to happen, and yet nothing did. It was almost worse when things were quiet, he thought. When people were acting, at least you knew where they were.

Voldemort, of course, remained a shadowy figure, just out of sight but never out of mind. He was linked to reports of Dumbledore's tomb being desecrated the month before, and people suspected that he had returned from his apparent travels abroad, but no one knew the details. Percy was sure Voldemort preferred it that way, just like he would rather have known what was happening, even if it were bad. Not knowing was always worse.

And then, all of a sudden, a group of thieves burst out of Gringotts on the back of a dragon.

No one knew who the thieves were, but Percy had his suspicions. Who else would burst out of Gringotts on a dragon? Who else would do something so dangerously insane and yet also outrageously brave? This was the move of someone who was a Gryffindor through and through, and Percy wasn't sure he'd ever met anyone else quite so absurdly Gryffindor as Harry Potter.

He listened to the chaos at work and did his best to commit the proposed new measures to memory, then he went back to his flat after an obscenely long day and pulled out his charmed notebook. He was in the middle of writing a very long note to Aberforth - the Ministry was going to tighten security everywhere after this - when words began to bloom on the opposite page. Aberforth had never written anything to Percy through the notebooks before, so Percy quickly set his quill aside to read what Aberforth had to say.

_They're making a stand at Hogwarts. Your family is here. Might be time to rid ourselves of these bastards once and for all._

Percy stared down at the words for a long moment, his heart pounding. A stand, against Voldemort? The practical part of his mind informed him that this was basically suicide, and there was no way everyone would come out alive.

But Percy also knew that Voldemort had to be stopped, and if there was even the slightest chance it could be done, they had to seize that chance and make the most of it.

 _On my way,_ he dashed down, and then he stood, took a deep breath, and turned on the spot. He had no idea what would happen once he reached Hogwarts, but he knew that, whatever it was, nothing would ever be the same again.

And he found that, as apprehensive as the idea made him, he was alright with it.

**Author's Note:**

> My writing tumblr is [here](http://winterskywrites.tumblr.com/), if you're interested.


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